


Restrained

by MiaCooper



Series: Service [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Although there's quite a bit going down already, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Bukkake I guess, Chakotay is the patron saint of every kind of sex, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Edging, Escaping from real life doesn't mean it goes away, F/M, Facials, Fantasizing, Flirting on the bridge, Holodeck Sex, Holodecks/Holosuites, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Janeway is no slouch in the boudoir either, Kinky butt stuff, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, More tags to follow, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Penetration, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Restraints, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Sexting, Sometimes they even use their mouths for talking, Spanking, Still more tags to follow, Sweetness, Tumblr Prompt, Vanilla stuff that even happens in a bed, alpha chakotay, does it count if it's not simultaneous?, exhibitionist kink, followed by, i don't fucking know, idk but I'm going straight to hell, let's try to slow my descent with some, love is the answer, lovemaking, or if it's holographic?, what the hell is even going on here, what was the question again?, where is Reverend Ayala with his holy tequila?, who even am i anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/pseuds/MiaCooper
Summary: Sequel toLacedandBoundHaving confessed their feelings for each other, the command team eagerly embrace their evolving relationship – even if it must be kept secret – and discover to their mutual delight that love isn’t all vanilla and no spice.Set mid-season 4, shortly afterMessage in a Bottle.





	1. Distracted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helen8462](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen8462/gifts), [Killermanatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/gifts), [LittleObsessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleObsessions/gifts).



> You know how I said I was never going to write a sequel to _Laced_ and _Bound_? Never say never.
> 
> This is the 100th work I've posted to AO3, and what better way to mark the occasion than with some low-down, filthy smut? Each chapter is inspired by a [six sexy words](https://mia-cooper.tumblr.com/post/173821815503/sexy-prompts) prompt.
> 
> This one is for Helen8462, who never believed me when I said never; for Killermanatee, who’s been keeping the smut alive in this fandom over the past few months; and for LittleObsessions, who backseat-drove _Bound_ all the way to Kinkytown and assured me that it’s okay to say cunt. Thanks, dolls. *blows kisses*

_Prompt #4: I thought of you all day._

* * *

 

_Kathryn_

He’s doing it on purpose.  
  
Long fingers drum lightly on the armrest, trace across the console between our chairs. Each movement is deliberate, designed to catch my attention in the most subtle of ways. Slow circling of fingertips, a whisper-light touch, the confident slide of a palm: he knows full well that my focus is narrowing, my mind clouding, with each stroke and curl of his hands.  
  
Those hands. I’ve watched them inflict pain – efficient, devastating and swift – upon our enemies. I’ve seen them manipulate Starfleet technology and the most rudimentary of tools, deftly and capably. More recently, though, I’ve come to see them in a different light.  
  
There’s an element of that same deft proficiency in the way he uses those hands to hold me, to support and cradle me, to restrain and control me. And they are certainly both skilful and efficient at bringing me to the brink of pain in order to heighten the resulting pleasure. His hands can bind and grip and strike, and equally, they can trace and stroke and caress.  
  
And when he puts his hands on my body, his unwavering dedication to every aspect of my wellbeing flows from his fingertips and into my skin, a permanent imprint of loyalty and love.  
  
Watching him, I feel my cheeks heating up and my breath coming faster. Perhaps I make a small sound, because Chakotay glances over at me. Whatever he reads on my face brings to life an impertinent grin. It’s enough to return me to my senses.  
  
At least, until his attention has returned to the console and he taps it to draw my gaze, and I read the message he’s just written on it.  


> _Holodeck 2, 2030 hrs. Initiate program Chakotay alpha six and wait for me._

  
Instantly, lust swells in my throat and tightens my lungs, and my hands begin to tremble. I squirm in my chair. Chakotay’s eyes cut sideways.  
  
He takes in my flushed cheeks, my parted lips, and smirks, turning away from me to type into the console again.  
  


> _I can see that excites you. Are you wearing panties right now?_

  
I give an infinitesimal nod of my head.  


> _That’s fortunate. You’re wet, aren’t you? I can tell. If I stroked you between your legs, on the outside of your panties, my finger would be damp. It would smell like you. Taste like you too._

  
I almost moan aloud. Only the chirrup of a console stops me in time, and I turn hastily away from Chakotay’s hypnotic words, clearing my throat. _You bastard_ , I think, fighting to hide a smile.  
  
We’ve played this game before.  
  
It’s not always a competition between us: to find out who can come up with the most inventive and teasing form of torture, who can hold out the longest before the ascending burn of lust cannot be borne for one more moment. Sometimes – often, in fact – it’s sweet and slow and simple; making love rather than fucking.  
  
But he knows me, and he knows precisely how to turn up the heat until I’m ready to self-combust.  
  
The bridge is quiet, and he’s typing again.  


> _Kathryn_.

  
I quirk an inquiring eyebrow.  
  


> _In two minutes you’ll excuse yourself to your ready room, where you will remove your undershirt, bra and panties, put on your uniform again and return immediately to the bridge. You may not leave again until end of shift._

  
I send him a not-quite-glare. He reads my mind and grins.  


> _Barring emergencies, of course. Go._

  
Rising from my chair, praying my trembling knees won’t betray me, I announce, “You have the bridge, Commander,” and flee.  
  
_Chakotay was right_ , I’m forced to concede as I strip off my uniform and find my panties drenched and my pussy slick and puffy. When I pull the trousers back on over bare, heated skin I find that the seam presses firmly between my thighs, and my nipples chafe and stiffen without the protection of my bra. Each step, each movement, brings friction that builds the pressure inside me to an almost unbearable degree.  
  
Swallowing hard, I exit the ready room and my gaze scans the bridge, a habit I always indulge when I’ve been absent from it, no matter how short the period of time. My crewmen work diligently at their stations. Only Tuvok senses my regard and raises a silent eyebrow.  
  
_As you were, Commander_ , I address him silently. Tuvok knows my secrets, and keeps them well.  
  
I move back to my chair, sitting gingerly and almost groaning aloud as I cross one leg over the other. Chakotay dips his head to hide his widening grin and lets his hand drift onto the console again. Another message appears. I briefly struggle with my better angels – _you’re on duty, Kathryn!_ – but inevitably I capitulate, my gaze shifting to drink in his seductive words.  
  
Alpha shift has never dragged on for so long. By the time shift change rolls sluggishly around, Chakotay has kept me consistently on the edge of climax with a combination of heated looks, subtle touches and well-chosen words. I can’t wait to get out of here so I can relieve a little of this tension.  
  
Then the console lights up:  


> _After your shift you will go directly to your quarters. You’ll take a long bath and do whatever you need to do to prepare for tonight. You’ll dress in clothing of your choice. My only stipulation is that the underwear stays gone._

  
My throat works roughly.  
  


> _You may touch yourself, but you are not permitted to come. If you do, I’ll know and you’ll be punished._
> 
> _As soon as you’ve activated the holoprogram I want you naked. I intend to fuck you so hard and for so long tonight that you’ll lose your voice from screaming, and I don’t want anything getting in my way._

  
My mouth drops open and I sink a little in my chair. Blood rushes to delicate parts of me, and my heart is thudding so loudly it drowns out all external sound. It isn’t until Tuvok’s calm tones announce the beginning of Beta shift that I realise my crew is waiting patiently for me to officially dismiss them. All eyes are turned to me.  
  
Chakotay stands patiently beside my chair, poker-faced but for the devilish gleam in his eye.  
  
_I will not blush_ , I remind myself furiously as I scramble to my feet. “Dismissed,” I blurt. “Commander Tuvok, you have the bridge.”  
  
I walk on wobbly legs to the turbolift, hoping for a moment of solitude, but it’s not to be. Just as the doors begin to close, a hand reaches in to stop them. A strong, long-fingered, capable hand.  
  
Chakotay steps into the ‘lift and keeps moving forward until I step back to avoid contact. Crowding me up against the rear wall, he raises a hand to my face. I’m already closing my eyes and leaning my cheek into his palm when someone else jostles his way into the lift.  
  
“Captain. Commander.”  
  
“Lieutenant,” Chakotay half-growls. His hand drops casually to his side and he shifts to give me some room.  
  
Shrewd blue eyes flicker over us, missing nothing. My heart sinks as the smallest of smiles curves Tom’s lips.  
  
“Plans for tonight?” he asks, the easy tone at odds with his knowing smirk.  
  
I find my voice, infusing a chill into it. “A quiet night in with a book, I think, Mr Paris.”  
  
“Sounds exciting,” he deadpans. “If you change your mind, Captain, Harry and I thought we’d drag out the old Sandrine’s program. It’s been a while since our last pool tournament.”  
  
“Perhaps another time.”  
  
“I’ll go easy on you, Captain,” Tom says in that innocently earnest tone that doesn’t fool me for a minute, “in case you’re worried about losing your shirt.”  
  
And he glances from me to Chakotay and back again, an audacious grin widening across his face.  
  
Before I can decide how to respond, the ‘lift stops on deck three and Tom moves smoothly to one side to let me pass.  
  
I decide discretion is the better part of valour, tossing “Good night, gentlemen,” over my shoulder as I glide into the corridor.  
  
Tom is still beaming and I can’t stand it. Halting just outside the ‘lift, I turn to smile at him sweetly.  
  
“Mr Paris, am I to understand that you’ll be wagering on the outcome of this tournament?”  
  
His smirk falters. “Uh…”  
  
“I’m disappointed in you, Lieutenant. After all, there’s no such thing as a sure bet. Particularly when you think you know more than you actually do.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “And whatever you think you know, the safest bet is to _keep it the hell to yourself_.”  
  
I swivel and stride away, the sound of Chakotay’s dark chuckle reverberating in my ears.  
  
Inside my quarters, I order the bathtub to fill with vanilla-scented bubbles and perch on the edge. For the moment, preoccupied with the conversation in the turbolift, my ardour is dampened.  
  
Have we been more obvious than I suspected? Has the crew picked up on something new between us, some sort of charge, or perhaps the luxuriant ease that comes with sexual satisfaction? Have we slipped up, linked fingers in public, let slip a clue or two?  
  
Shaking my head, I stand to strip off my uniform. I’m not going to let it get to me. If Tuvok, my Vulcan stickler for protocol, is satisfied that neither my judgment nor Chakotay’s is impaired by our relationship, perhaps it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks.  
  
Cool, recycled air whispers over heated flesh as I let the last of my uniform drop to the floor. I stand before the rapidly misting mirror, twisting this way and that, my spine prickling with anticipation. No doubt Chakotay has some surprises in store for me tonight.  
  
But I have a surprise for him, too.  
  
I slide into warm silky water and lean my head against the lip of the tub. The only sound is the musical plink of each drop of pooled condensation falling from the faucet into the water below. I lift one leg out of the tub to prop it on the edge, idly admiring the way the bath oil cools into droplets on my skin. One rolls from the inside of my knee and along my thigh to disappear beneath the surface. I follow its path with a fingertip, and as my own hand sinks below the waterline I’m reminded strongly of the hot springs on Latavan. Of feminine hands exploring my body without invitation or apology, and of my own reaction: shocked and confused, and incredibly aroused.  
  
Oh God, I can’t think about this now. I’m so turned on that the slightest stimulation could send me over the edge, and there’s hours until I meet Chakotay on the holodeck.  
  
He forbade me to make myself come. And I’ve learned to take his orders very seriously.  
  
Drawing a deep breath, I push myself upright in the tub and wash quickly, careful not to linger on any of my erogenous zones. I drain the tub and sonic dry, dress hastily in sensible underwear and a fresh uniform, collect a coffee from the replicator and settle at my desk with a stack of padds. Because work, as I’ve long known, is the only thing that has a chance of distracting me when I’m like this.  
  
And to an extent I succeed; I manage to clear several reports, comm B'Elanna for a lengthy conference on purifying the dilithium crystals we recently acquired, and check in with Tuvok on the bridge. I even allow myself a short break to sip at a bowl of soup, because I’ve learned that nights with Chakotay usually require stamina.  
  
Finally, thank God, the chronometer chimes to inform me it’s 2000 hours, and I promptly pack away my padds and strip off every stitch of clothing I own. I order the computer to play some sultry jazz, wrap myself in a silk robe and sit at my bureau to apply makeup and style my hair. I have every intention of looking as good as I can tonight.  
  
I can’t help the frisson that rolls along my spine as I wonder how I’ll look once he’s finished with me.  
  
At 2025 hours, satisfied with my appearance, I shrug into leggings, a tunic and slip-on shoes and head for the holodeck. Along the way I meet the occasional crewman in off-duty gear, probably en route to Tom’s pool tournament. I’m used to their curiosity about me, about what I do in my downtime and who I do it with. I’ve perfected the art of the brief greeting, the reserved smile, the regal nod.  
  
And then I’m inside, the holodeck doors sliding shut behind me, and instantly I am no longer the captain, but a woman about to meet my lover, the man who does things to my body and my mind that set me alight in a way I’d never imagined before we met.  
  
The man I’ve been thinking about all day.  
  
“Computer,” I husk, “activate program Chakotay alpha six.”  
  
What shimmers into existence around me is a room that has no pretensions: it is simply four walls, a plush carpet and a bed. An enormous four-poster bed, covered in soft white sheets and heaped with pillows. There’s an invisible light source somewhere above me, its warm, golden glow suffusing the room and leaving the corners in shadow. Music plays – a rasping male voice, muted trumpet, a slow drumbeat – designed to stir the blood without distracting the mind.  
  
I disrobe slowly, letting the sounds and scents permeate my consciousness, letting the anticipation build again.  
  
Soon he’ll be here, I think as I fold my clothing neatly and place it in a corner.  
  
_Soon, he’ll be touching me_ , I remind myself, sinking onto the bed. _And he’ll show me what it will take to please him, and then he’ll reward me for it. Soon_.  
  
But when is _soon_? The bed is so soft, and I am so painfully aroused, and I’ve been waiting so long. And he promised he’d fuck me into oblivion tonight and if I don’t feel him soon, stretching and filling me, his mouth consuming mine and his hands, God, his hands on me and his voice growling low in my ear … I can’t hold out any longer, I can’t …  
  
My fingers slide between parted thighs, encountering flesh so slick and heated it wrings a moan from my throat and an arch in my back. I’m so close to orgasm that the slightest brush of my fingertip is all it’s going to take. And despite his command to wait, despite his promise of punishment if I disobey, my control is shredded and all I have left, all I am, is hunger.  
  
Digging my teeth into my lower lip, I let the urge take me, my fingers circling as I begin to tip over the edge into a bottomless well of need –


	2. Controlled

_Prompted by six sexy words #18: Only when I give you permission._

* * *

  
  
_Chakotay_  
  
“Stop.”  
  
My voice is rougher than I’d intended. But considering the tableau in front of me, I can hardly be blamed for struggling with my control.  
  
Kathryn is on the bed. She’s naked – just as I ordered – and her back is arched, the lines of her forearms and calves strung tight and tense. Tousled hair frames a flushed face, lips parted and eyes closed. The fingers of one hand cup her breast, the nipple taut. The other hand is between her spread thighs. My gaze fixes upon it, on the slender fingers that shine wetly with her essence, and on her sodden pink flesh.  
  
Her cunt is shaven smooth.  
  
At the sight of it I almost lose control completely. She’s beautiful to me exactly as nature made her, and yet the sight of her smooth, bare pussy is instantly electrifying.  
  
Kathryn’s breath shudders and her hips twitch, but at my command she ceases the circling motion of her fingertips, exhaling on a moan. Her face tips in my direction.  
  
Wrestling myself back into check, I walk toward her slowly. “I believe I told you _not_ to make yourself come.”  
  
“I know,” she whispers. “I’m sorry…”  
  
 “But you couldn’t help yourself.”  
  
I’m standing right by the bed now. She looks up at me, her expression an exquisite mixture of trepidation and lust. Deliberately, I allow one forefinger to alight on her raised knee and trace along her inner thigh.  
  
She quivers.  
  
I press lightly against her thigh, spreading her further. “You are very wet,” I remark. “You’d like very much to come, wouldn’t you?”  
  
Kathryn nods breathlessly. Her hips cant toward me.  
  
My fingers circle delicately on her petal-soft skin, closer and closer to her soaking core.  
  
“How badly do you want it, Kathryn?”  
  
“Please,” she shudders, “I’ll do anything.”  
  
“That is a very tempting offer, sweetheart,” I murmur as my fingers dip and trace. “And I want you to know that I very much appreciate your little surprise –”  
  
Lightly, so lightly it’s barely a feather-brush, my fingertip sketches the bare, glistening folds of her pussy. She almost sobs, and I’m forced to grit my teeth to hold back the growl that wants to escape my throat.  
  
“– but I can’t overlook your disobedience,” I continue when I’m able to speak again. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be disciplined.”  
  
The effect on her is instantaneous.  
  
Her limbs loosen, the curve of her spine relaxing, her hands falling away from her body. Her eyes are locked on my face, wide and trusting, her expression almost serene.  
  
This is something I’m delighted to have learned about Kathryn: as commanding as she is on the bridge of her ship, in private she relinquishes that command with eager delight. Not always – sometimes, she likes to direct proceedings – and only lately has she begun to surrender that control completely, but when she lets go I’m humbled and grateful at the extent of her trust in me.  
  
It’s a responsibility I treasure, a trust I would never abuse, and a power that places on me the sweetest restraint. Her needs are all that matters, her gratification the ultimate goal, and she reaches the most transcendent heights of pleasure when I’ve systematically stripped away every defence, every boundary she hides behind, leaving only the raw, vulnerable, quivering core of her.  
  
I look down at her, spread open before me, and contemplate how I’ll bring her to that state of being tonight.  
  
Then I think about the way she looked when I entered this program – wild, spine bowed, on the verge of bringing herself to climax – and I know exactly what to do.  
  
Stepping back from between her legs, I issue a command to the computer and the room changes. The rumpled white bed is still the centrepiece, but the lights have dimmed to a single warm spotlight gleaming on Kathryn’s naked form. In the shadows is a brown velvet couch; I sink onto it and loosen my necktie. A glass of whiskey appears on a low table beside me and I sip it in silence.  
  
The bedclothes rustle as she sits up cautiously, her eyes full of inquiry. God, she’s beautiful, all tousled hair and creamy curves, mine to caress or bruise as I please. Tonight, I plan to do both.  
  
She takes in a breath, but before she can question me I crack out, “Don’t speak.”  
  
Kathryn bites down on her lip, her spine straightening, legs closing.  
  
“Turn around,” I direct her. “I want you face down on the bed with that perfect ass on display for me.”  
  
She bends over the edge of the bed, widening her stance without my having to ask, and I smile.  
  
“Good girl. Now I want you to touch yourself.”  
  
She dips one hand between her legs and hesitates, her head turning to ask meekly, “Like this?”  
  
“Tease yourself slowly. Put on a show for me. I want you so wet it’s running down your thighs.”  
  
Her eyes glaze and she turns to press her face into the sheet, stifling a moan. Slender fingers work nimbly between her legs, circling and pressing and sliding. I watch as her hips begin to move, her thighs trembling, until the sodden sheen on her slit makes my throat go dry.  
  
“And Kathryn, remember –”  
  
“Yes?” she gasps. Two fingers slide into her drenched channel and she shudders, catching her breath.  
  
“Don’t come until I give you permission.”  
  
The sound she makes at that sends a pulse of lust throughout my body, culminating in the throbbing ache that suffuses my rigid cock. I reach down to adjust myself, then unfasten the top couple of buttons on my dress shirt. Her little sounds, her scent, the sight of her fucking herself on her own fingers … it’s all I can do not to strip down and take her right here and now. But I’m not done torturing her – or apparently myself – just yet.  
  
“Get on your back,” I order. “Legs spread. I want to see that pretty little shaved cunt.”  
  
Kathryn obeys, propping herself on one elbow as her hand snakes back between her thighs. In this pose I have a perfect view of her upturned breasts, her puckered nipples, her swollen folds.  
  
Months ago, when things started between us, Kathryn confessed to me that she’d never been particularly skilled at pleasuring herself. Watching her now, it’s difficult to believe that.  
  
She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen: her lush body, the sheen of perspiration on her pale, perfect skin, the lewd and unashamed display of her most intimate parts as she slides her fingers over and around her clitoris, whimpering with need. If I can’t take much more of this without giving in, I can only imagine the willpower she’s drawing on.  
  
A shiver runs through her and the quality of her soft moans changes, grows more urgent. She’s so close; I read it in the fine tension of her limbs and the way her head tips back, her mouth dropping open.  
  
“Enough,” I tell her harshly, and she lets out a wail, but her fingers drop obediently away.  
  
I give her a moment to regain control, wondering how many times she’s brought herself back from the brink today. Eventually she raises her head. Her chest heaves as she looks at me, waiting for instruction.  
  
“Come here.”  
  
Kathryn rises gracefully to her feet and begins to move toward me.  
  
“No,” I stop her, “on your knees.”  
  
There’s the briefest hesitation before she complies, dropping to hands and knees, her back curving sinuously as she crawls toward me.  
  
I’d been planning to reward her for her restraint and obedience, but that tiny show of defiance changes my intention. I remain sprawled across the velvet couch, whiskey glass dangling from my fingers, until she comes to halt before me and reaches for the fly of my pants.  
  
That presumption is her second transgression.  
  
“What makes you think,” I address her silkily, “that you deserve my cock in your mouth?”  
  
Kathryn stills, eyes widening.  
  
I place the tumbler on the floor beside me. “Do you really think you’ve earned your reward, Kathryn?”  
  
She bows her head contritely, letting her hands slide back to clasp in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice soft.  
  
“We’ll see.”  
  
In a rush of motion I push upright on the couch, lean over to grasp her firmly around the waist and haul her bodily, face down, across my thighs. She gasps, quelling a brief, automatic struggle, and lies still.  
  
She knows what’s coming.  
  
“That’s right,” I murmur, letting my hand fall sharply, experimentally, on one upraised buttock.  
  
She flinches. I wait, smoothing gentle circles on her behind, until the tension begins to leave her limbs. Then I raise my hand high and bring it down with a crack.  
  
Kathryn’s body shakes, the imprint of my hand standing out, bright-red, on her white skin. The sight of it never fails to excite me, and I strike her again, on the other cheek this time. Again, and again, alternating left and right, as her breasts flatten and rub against my thighs and my cock swells painfully inside my pants.  
  
It’s only when she allows a whimper to escape her clenched teeth that I pause, caressing her abused behind with the tips of my fingers. Kathryn arches into the contact, her thighs falling further apart, and I have to close my eyes momentarily.  
  
When I open them, my gaze wanders over the picture she presents to me. Slender thighs parted, round upturned ass striped red and white like a candy-cane, tight puckered hole and below it, her pussy, slick and pouting and completely bare.  
  
My fingers drift into the crack between her buttocks.  
  
“Tell me,” I murmur, one finger tracing the outline of those puffy lips, “why did you decide to shave for me?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Her voice shakes. “I just thought you’d like it.”  
  
“Oh, I do.” I dip into her slit, gathering moisture on my fingertips, and drag it upwards to press one fingertip against her anus. She jerks against me. “But what made you think I’d like to see you completely bare down here?”  
  
“That thing you did last week, with your tongue ...” she admits, her head hanging.  
  
I’m glad she can’t see my delighted grin at her half-confession. Last week I had immobilised her and licked her clit and pussy, diligently and consistently, while she came repeatedly against my mouth. And then I’d curled my tongue inside her asshole and she’d screamed, thrashing and crying, her orgasm ripping through her like a firestorm.  
  
“You liked that, huh?” I growl, and she shivers.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
I spread my fingers, two dipping just inside her vagina, one pushing lightly into her anus. “Would you like me to do it again?”  
  
She swallows audibly. “Yes,” she whispers.  
  
A fresh flood of her arousal dampens my fingers and I wiggle them experimentally, one flicking her clit. Kathryn jolts and trembles. Her breath rasps in her lungs.  
  
I could play with her a little longer, keep teasing her until she begs. But in this moment all I want is to give her what she craves.  
  
Gently, I help her upright, standing to face her. My hands cup her face and I lean down to kiss her slowly, lusciously, sipping at her lips, sucking on her tongue. She relaxes against me, a soft moan drawn from her throat as I pull back to nuzzle at her ear.  
  
Then I murmur, “Turn around, bend over and put your hands flat on the floor.”  
  
Gulping, she does so, and I sink to my knees behind her. Her spread ass is at eye level. I place my hands on her hips and cup her buttocks. My thumbs stretch to press into her moist, inviting crevice, and then I lean forward and flatten my tongue against her.  
  
Kathryn moans.  
  
I lap at her nub until she’s trembling, lick into her slit as she pushes back against my face. Finally, when she can barely keep her balance, I hook one arm firmly across the front of her hips to hold her to me, push two fingers inside her and swirl my tongue into her puckered hole.  
  
She cries out, writhing and squirming, her knees almost giving way, her juices soaking my face. I quicken my movements, pressing my thumb to her clit. She almost screams, trying to leap away from me.  
  
“ _Please_ ,” she whimpers desperately, “oh God, please,” and that’s when I remember that she’s waiting for my permission.  
  
I drag my mouth away from her for just long enough to gasp, “Come, Kathryn,” and then I dive back in.  
  
She peaks with a frail, pleading cry as though all the breath has been pulled out of her, but there’s nothing weak about the twisting, writhing shudders that wrack her body. Her legs buckle, breaking her away from my busy mouth, and I flatten my palm over her chest to stop her from crashing to the floor. The tremors seem to go on forever.  
  
I tighten my arms around her and raise myself back onto the couch, pulling her back into my lap, cradling her until she quiets. She sobs once and buries her face in the crook of my neck. I stroke her back gently and press kisses into her hair.  
  
Finally she raises her head. Her makeup has left dark smudges under her eyes and her hair is a mess, but as we look at each other, a radiant smile blooms across her face.  
  
“Okay?” I check, an answering smile tugging at my lips.  
  
She nods slowly, grinning. “Oh, I am most definitely more than _okay_.”  
  
“Worth the wait, then?” My thumb brushes her jaw and she leans her cheek briefly into my palm.  
  
“It was for me.” Kathryn bites her lower lip and lets her lashes sweep downward. She wriggles in my lap and I hiss, reminded sharply of her damp flesh pressed to my still-hard, clothed cock. “But I think one of us is still waiting for that reward.”  
  
“You don’t have to –”  
  
“Oh, but I want to,” she cuts me off, and she slithers off my lap to sink to the floor between my legs.


	3. Subdued

_Prompt #22: Holding your hands above your head._

* * *

 

_Kathryn_

“Wait.”  
  
His gruff voice stills my hands as I reach for the fastening of his pants and I quirk an inquiring eyebrow at him.  
  
After all, it’s not often he stops me from taking his cock into my mouth.  
  
Chakotay rests a hand on my head, fingers combing gently through my hair. His smile widens and turns feral. It sends an anticipatory shiver though me, even though my body is still limp from the pleasure his lips and tongue just wrung from it.  
  
“I didn’t say I was finished with you yet.”  
  
He lets his fingers drift along my jawline, tilting my chin upward so he can bend to press the softest of kisses to my lips.  
  
That kiss – tender, achingly sweet – given when we’re together like this, is almost always a precursor to the kind of activity that will push my boundaries, sometimes even redefine them. And it never fails to send a sharp wave of lust directly to my tingling nipples, my swollen clit, my aching cunt.  
  
My eyes close, my body stills. All my senses are focused on the light pressure of his lips and the subtle swipe of his tongue.  
  
He draws back slowly and I feel his gaze on my face. Then he says, “Get up.”  
  
Opening my eyes, I get to my feet quickly and stand before him. He rises too, and his hands come to rest on my hips as he stares down at me. There’s a speculative look in those dark eyes that makes my pulse pick up.  
  
“Computer,” Chakotay says, “alter program parameters and run file Chakotay alpha nine blue.”  
  
Around us, the white room, the couch and the bed shimmer away, and the first thing that strikes me is the smell of sawdust and polished wood. We are standing in Sandrine’s, but it’s not the version the crew knows. There’s a bar, a pool table, couches and chairs and a fireplace, but there’s also a coiled length of slender rope draped over the nearest table, and a hook set into the ceiling directly above me.  
  
And it’s empty but for us.  
  
The first time he brought me here, soon after we started sleeping together, he indulged me by bringing to life almost every depraved fantasy I’ve ever had. We haven’t been here often since, but each time we have it’s been memorable.  
  
If he’s activating this program tonight it means he has something special in mind for me. Something wanton and debauched; maybe something I didn’t even know I was craving. He has a knack for intuiting my most decadent imaginings and making them a reality.  
  
And in the process, driving me to experience the most intense and unrestrained of orgasms.  
  
I can hardly wait.  
  
“Your eyes glazed over,” Chakotay rumbles, bringing my full attention back to him and the smirk that flirts with the corners of his mouth. “Such a Pavlovian response, sweetheart.”  
  
His hands slide downward from my hips to cup and squeeze my still-tender behind.  
  
“That’s good,” he continues, “because from now on I want you to follow your instincts. Don’t think. Just feel.”  
  
He dips his head, nuzzling his lips softly against my neck.  
  
“I’m in control now,” he whispers, close to my ear. “Let go.”  
  
I give a short nod, and it must be the signal he’s been waiting for because he nips sharply at my neck and pulls back. I can’t help a mewl of disappointment when his hands slide away from my body.  
  
“Close your eyes,” he orders.  
  
I obey, and feel him take hold of my hands and raise them high above my head. He holds them there as he circles me, and then I feel the rope winding around my wrists, over and over. His breath is warm on my nape and the movements of his arms make the soft linen of his shirt brush my naked back. My skin feels tight, over-sensitised.  
  
He ties off the rope and loops it over the hook that extends down from the ceiling, then steps back to inspect his handiwork.  
  
I’m completely immobilised. And the knowledge that I can’t free myself – that I’m naked and exposed and completely at his mercy – sends a rush of arousal to my core.  
  
“Good,” he murmurs, then, “I’m going to blindfold you now.”  
  
I suck in a shaky breath as the silk covers my eyes. He’s careful not to pull my hair as he secures the blindfold with a knot behind my head.  
  
“Okay?” he confirms, one hand resting warmly on my stretched shoulderblade.  
  
“Yes,” I breathe. “Absolutely.”  
  
He chuckles and gives my ass a light, patronising pat to indicate he’s satisfied with my response, and then I sense him moving away. He says something so low I don’t catch it, but when the computer chirps its acknowledgment I realise he wasn’t addressing me.  
  
I hear him unscrew the lid of a bottle and the smoky tang of whiskey reaches my nose. He pours – there’s the dull _chink_ of the bottle’s neck touching a heavy glass tumbler – and moves closer; I can’t see him, but the smell of the whiskey is stronger and I sense his presence, broad and solid, directly in front of me.  
  
He sips, holds the whiskey in his mouth to savour it, and swallows; I can almost feel the burn in my throat. My tongue darts out to wet my lips.  
  
“Thirsty?”  
  
I nod, and a warm, steady hand cups my hip to steady me as he holds the glass to my lips, tipping it just enough for a taste.  
  
“I’ve been thinking,” he says conversationally, withdrawing the tumbler and pacing a few steps away. “Remember the Srivani?”  
  
I can’t help the curl of my lip. “How could I forget? They experimented on us for weeks.”  
  
“I guess that means they were watching us that whole time.” He sips from his glass again, then I hear him placing it on a wooden surface. “Bet they saw some interesting things.”  
  
My mouth drops open a little.  
  
Those aliens… they’d pumped up my dopamine levels until I felt nearly insane. Everything was intensely heightened; every emotion brought me to the edge of madness. I must have driven Chakotay almost to drink back then; if I wasn’t picking fights with him, I was demanding he satisfy me sexually as often as humanly possible and more –  
  
My cheeks start to burn and I hang my head. Chakotay chuckles.  
  
“You must have been relieved when the Doctor confined you to sickbay,” I mumble. “Losing your hair was probably more fun than putting up with me.”  
  
“Stop that,” he reproves. “Sure, you were a little out of control, but it wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t all bad.”  
  
I can hear the grin in his voice as he leans in and speaks in my ear.  
  
“I just wish they’d boosted my testosterone instead of turning me into an old man, so I could give you what you wanted.” He moves away, casually adding, “It’s a shame there’s only one of me.”   
  
“Mm,” I respond, not really listening. I’m too busy remembering the tongue-lashing I gave Tom and B'Elanna for their less-than-discreet displays of affection, immediately before I ordered Chakotay into my ready room and put my tongue to equally indiscreet use –  
  
There’s a sharp twist to my nipple and I yelp.  
  
“Focus, sweetheart,” Chakotay warns, then, “What were you thinking about just now?”  
  
“I was thinking about sucking your cock.”  
  
He cups my breast, his thumb softly rubbing my abused nipple and making me shudder. “Would you like to?” he asks silkily.  
  
“Yes.” I moisten my lips. “Very much.”  
  
“Or would you rather I fuck you?” His fingers stroke downward over my abdomen to cup my pussy.  
  
I think about the way he stretches me, the thick slide and the fullness, and I push myself into his hand.  
  
“So smooth,” he murmurs, the pad of his forefinger parting my swollen lower lips to circle my clitoris. “So wet, just for me.”  
  
His other hand mirrors the first, skimming over the curve of my ass, one finger pressing into the crack.  
  
“So tight,” he whispers, his lips drifting over my cheekbone. “You’re imagining me fucking your ass right now, aren’t you Kathryn?”  
  
I can’t stifle a moan.  
  
“You remember the first time I brought you here?”  
  
“Yes…”  
  
“You wanted to be fucked so badly. One man wasn’t enough for you – you had to be filled everywhere.”  
  
He quickens the pace of his finger on my clit and I twist and arch to increase the contact. I feel my climax beginning to gather like storm clouds. My mind is filled with slick heat and seeking tongues, hands stroking and grasping, thick cocks pushing and plunging …  
  
“How many men do you think you could fuck, Kathryn?” he murmurs. “How many cocks can you take?”  
  
 _All of them_ , I think wildly, but what comes out of my mouth is, “I only want you.”  
  
I can hear the undercurrent of delight as he responds, “Then you’re in luck, sweetheart.”  
  
He tugs gently at the knot behind my head until the blindfold comes loose.  
  
I blink against the light, and when my eyes have adjusted he suggests, “Look around.”  
  
Chakotay stands in front of me, grinning wolfishly. He’s discarded the dinner jacket and tie he was wearing earlier and has rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He looks delicious, and for the first time I chafe against my bonds: I need to reach for him, touch him and rub my body against his skin…  
  
He steps aside and my gaze drifts past him.  
  
“What …?” My voice tapers into nothingness.  
  
Another Chakotay slouches in a hard-backed chair, legs spread insolently wide. He’s wearing battered leather pants and scuffed, dusty boots, and he’s staring at me as though he wants to devour me alive.  
  
I gulp. This is the man who first beamed onto my bridge, phaser drawn, bristling with aggression.  
  
To his right, a third Chakotay leans against the edge of a table. This one is dressed in Starfleet uniform, hair groomed slick, and he looks at me with an expression that incites in me a sharp sense of recognition: schooled features, deferential tilt of the chin, barely-concealed heat in his eyes. It’s the expression I saw whenever _my_ Chakotay looked at me, from the moment I first began to suspect he had feelings for me.  
  
There’s another, moving up behind the table, wearing the loose shirt and sturdy pants I associate with New Earth. Then others: in jeans and a T-shirt; breeches and long boots – I gulp at that; it reminds me sharply of the outfit he wore on Latavan – and finally, one wearing nothing but bedhead, sleep-heavy eyes and Starfleet-issue shorts that are noticeably tented at the front.  
  
I start to shake.  
  
“What,” I manage hoarsely, swallowing hard, “what exactly do you – uh, _all_ of you – intend to do to me?”  
  
“Whatever you want,” replies my Chakotay, and the others murmur in agreement.  
  
His doubles drift closer until they’re crowded around us. The Starfleet officer brushes a fingertip over my nipple. Another’s hand finds my hip and slides forward into the crease of my thigh. Still another presses up close behind me, his penis full and heavy and barely contained by his soft cotton shorts as he rubs it into the crack of my ass.  
  
Arousal washes through me, and the one in jeans gives an appreciative hum as his thick fingers dip between my thighs.  
  
“Beautiful,” whispers the one in uniform, bending to suck my nipple into his mouth, and the one wearing jeans murmurs agreement as he drops to his knees before me. He coaxes my leg over his shoulder and traces the outline of my pussy. Then he leans in to wrap his lips around my clitoris.  
  
I shudder and jerk as he laps at me, my knees buckling. The only thing keeping me upright is the rope binding my hands above my head.  
  
Soft lips brush my cheekbone. “What do you want, Kathryn?” my lover murmurs.  
  
“Let me down,” I beg, and immediately he helps me raise on tiptoe so I can slip my bound hands off the iron hook. He frees my wrists and rubs them gently, lifting them to his lips to trace the marks left on my skin.  
  
I sway on my feet as the hands and mouths on me stroke and twist and suck and tease, and my Chakotay smiles.  
  
“What do you want?” he asks again. “You can have anything. You only have to ask.”  
  
“You,” I grate out, the word dissolving into a gasp as fingers curl into my dripping slit. “I want – I need to make you come. With my mouth. Please.”  
  
In answer he releases my wrists and presses down on my shoulder until my knees buckle. Hands lower me gently to the floor and drift over my back, my ass, between my legs. So many hands.  
   
“Please,” I beg again, staring up at my Chakotay, and he unzips his pants and frees himself, pushing his cock into my open mouth.  
  
I’m not sure who groans louder, him or me.  
  
He sinks in slowly, allowing me time to adjust, as the other men murmur encouragingly, their hands stroking my body in every place they can reach. The feeling is indescribable. My excitement builds almost unbearably; I find myself stretching and craning to increase the pressure of those fingers _here_ , push those a little deeper _there_.   
  
Chakotay’s hands wind into my hair, holding it out of my face as I work my tongue and throat around his shaft. I can feel that he’s holding back from thrusting, but I don’t want his restraint – I want to feel all of him – so I raise my eyes to his face, pleading with him silently.  
  
As always, he gives me what I crave.  
  
His cock pushes inexorably into the depths of my throat, and I’m forced to swallow repeatedly as tears moisten my eyes. I blink, desperate to maintain eye contact, needing to read the lust and delight on his face as I take him in. When I start to feel lightheaded I draw back to gasp in a breath and he smiles down at me. He waits until I’ve wrapped my lips around the fat head of his penis, and then he coils his fists tighter in my hair and pushes me down until my lips are stretched around his base.  
  
“That’s it,” one of his doubles murmurs in my ear. “Take it in, as deep as you can, sweetheart.”  
  
A palm strikes my ass sharply and I jolt at the sudden pain, almost choking on Chakotay’s cock, but my noise of protest turns into a whine as thick fingers coated with cool gel trace inside the crevice of my ass and press gently into my anus. As they glide into me gradually I feel my eyes closing and my whole body loosening, my focus turning inward. My throat muscles relax and Chakotay slides in even deeper.  
  
He grunts and swells and I taste bitterness on the back of my tongue. And then he pulls out, his cock aimed directly at my open mouth. Semen splashes in ropes across my lips, my cheek and chest, and Chakotay groans.  
  
“Fuck,” he rasps when the pulses finally stop and I’m licking my lips as creamy fluid drips from my chin and dribbles onto my breasts. “You look so beautiful like that.”  
  
All I can do is stare up at him and whimper. There’s a hand on each of my breasts, fingers inside my ass and pussy, a mouth tracing patterns along the length of my spine and another nipping at my shoulder.  
  
Still panting, Chakotay backs up and grasps the back of a chair, falling into it. “I want to watch you with them – with me,” he grates. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”  
  
The sound that escapes me is needy and wordless.  
  
“You first,” he addresses the man directly behind me – the one wearing nothing but undershorts – and I feel smooth, muscled thighs press against the back of my own.  
  
The fingers inside me withdraw and a cock nudges into my slit to replace them, steadily pushing all the way inside me. The man curls an arm around my waist and coaxes me upright, holding my back against his bare chest.  
  
“And you,” Chakotay says. “She likes it when you play with her tits. Don’t be gentle.”  
  
The man in breeches shifts to my side, reaching to tweak one nipple between finger and thumb as his dark head dips to the other. His teeth close around it lightly, then with increasing pressure, making me cry out.  
  
Another hand snakes in from my other side, this one belonging to the Chakotay in loose shirt and work pants, and traces the place where my cunt is stretched around his doppelganger’s penis, slicking my moisture up over my clitoris. My inner muscles are squeezing rhythmically, making the man inside me groan and thrust harder. I’m moaning almost continuously now, my body tense and arched, my head falling back onto the shoulder of the man behind me. He sucks hard on my neck as fingers work at my nipples and clitoris, as I start to shudder …  
  
“That’s it,” my lover orders, “make her come. And then I want you to –”  
  
But the rest of his sentence is lost to me as the myriad sensations send me spiralling over the edge.


	4. Addicted

She cries out, her back arching sharply as her fingernails dig furrows into the thighs of the man who’s pounding himself into her, the man who looks like me. Then she goes limp, her head hanging and her upper body falling forward, held up only by the masculine arm around her waist.  
  
The instruction I’m in the middle of issuing dies on my tongue as I watch her, transfixed. She whines softly as my double grasps her hips and continues to slam into her, her body shaking with each forceful thrust.  
  
She’s magnificent.  
  
And I’m already hard again, so hard it’s almost painful – but I’ll have to wait my turn.  
  
The man fucking her grunts, hips stuttering.  
  
“Pull out,” I snap at him. He obeys, grasping his penis, and his ejaculate spurts onto her back, decorating her pale, pure skin with thick milky ribbons.  
  
The sight of her – as my doppelganger gives her upturned ass a perfunctory pat and staggers to his feet, yanking up the grey standard-issue underwear that is his only covering – dials my arousal up to fever pitch. Kathryn rests on her elbows, hair tangled over her face, her narrow back adorned with holographic seed, and all I want is to watch her again.  
  
My voice is hoarse as I snap my fingers at the next man waiting in line; the version of me I’ve programmed in Starfleet uniform. “You. You’re up.”  
  
He steps forward, bending over her and placing a gentle hand on her back. “What would you like?” he asks her softly.  
  
“Anything,” I barely hear her whisper. “Everything.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
He strips quickly and reaches for the bottle of lubricant, coating his fingers in it, and then his penis. As he uses his fingers to prepare her, Kathryn shudders and shifts her thighs further apart. I lean forward to get a better view as my double presses himself into her anus, pushing in carefully until his thighs are flush against the back of hers.  
  
He glances at the copy of me in Maquis leathers, and without a word the Maquis bends to cup Kathryn’s chin, tipping her face up.  
  
“Lie back on him, sweetheart,” he growls; his voice is harder than his counterpart’s. “I’m gonna fuck that sweet little cunt of yours.”  
  
Starfleet lies back on the floor and coaxes Kathryn to recline on him, her head lolling back on his shoulder, and Maquis drops to his knees before them and spreads her legs.  
  
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, “I have to taste you,” and he plunges his tongue inside her as Kathryn mewls and arches.  
  
I find that I’m holding my aching cock in my hand, squeezing the tip to stop myself from coming.  
  
The Maquis lifts his head, the lower half of his face glistening, and shoots me a feral grin. “I could eat her all day,” he says off-handedly. “But I think the lady wants me inside her.”  
  
The moan she utters in response is all the confirmation he needs.  
  
He lines himself up at her entrance. “Hold still,” he orders his double, and then he pushes all the way in with a guttural grunt.  
  
She whimpers and wriggles on the two hard cocks inside her and both men groan deeply. The one under her lifts his hands to cup her breasts as they both begin to move in counterpoint, pushing and pulling her, squeezing and thrusting.  
  
“God,” Kathryn moans, “oh _God_ ,” and she turns her head and opens her eyes directly onto mine.  
  
I reach out to touch her face, stroking across her lips with my thumb.  
  
“Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?” I rumble. “Do you know how good we look together?”  
  
“You feel … _so_ good,” she breathes. Her breasts bounce as both copies of me, Starfleet and Maquis, thrust into her roughly, jostling her between them. “So fucking good…”  
  
“More?”  
  
My eyes cut sideways to the version of me in jeans and he steps up eagerly, unbuttoning his fly. “Open up,” he entreats her, letting the head of his cock rest against her lips. And she does, groaning deep in her throat as he pushes into the warm haven of her mouth.  
  
“So many hands on you, Kathryn,” I growl. “So many cocks inside you.”  
  
She tries to speak, and the man in her mouth grunts and thrusts in deeper. The two men inside her increase their pace and force in response.  She shudders and bucks her hips, grinding onto them. Starfleet pinches and twists her nipples and Maquis shoves a hand between their bodies to rub his thumb over her clit, and Kathryn convulses, her shrieks muffled by the cock plunging into her throat.  
  
“I can feel you squeezing all around me,” Maquis groans, his hands tightening on her hips. He grasps her ankles and spreads her legs wide, driving into her faster, harder. Her body jolts and she makes a sound that could be pleasure or pain or some exhilarating combination of the two.  
  
With a few particularly forceful thrusts, Maquis shouts, “ _Fuck_ ,” and pulls out, emptying himself over her belly and thighs. Head hanging, chest heaving, he drops down to bury his face in her pussy, sucking at her noisily until she arches and shakes under his tongue.  
  
A moment later Starfleet grits his teeth and yells, pumping her ass full as his arms tighten around her.  
  
Kathryn squirms, pushing at them with hands and elbows, and in unison all three draw back from her slowly, groaning in concert.  
  
Starfleet steadies her on her knees before he stands, placing a soft kiss on her cheek and whispering, “Thank you.”  
  
Maquis grins down at her as he tucks himself back into his pants. “You’re one hot little fuck,” he tells her. “Look me up anytime.”  
  
The one in jeans stands patiently, his cock jutting out mere centimetres from her face. I’m just about to ask her if she’s had enough when she turns to him and clutches at his hips, bringing him forcefully back to her. Her neck curves as she swallows him down.  
  
Watching her pleasuring him orally almost sends me into orbit. All I can do, as I take in her slender, talented hands, her prodigious tongue, the undulations of her throat, is think about how it feels to be on the receiving end.  
  
“Ah, fuck,” my double mutters as though he’s read my mind, “I’m gonna –”  
  
“Come on her face,” the words tumble out of me, “I want you to shoot all over her – I want to see her covered in it…”  
  
He wrenches away from her, gripping his penis just in time to stripe her upturned face with long strands of milky fluid. She gasps and shuts her eyes, but holds still as it paints her lips, her shoulders and breasts.  
  
When he’s finished she opens her eyes and looks up at him with the same stripped-raw vulnerability, the absolute trust that tells me I’ve brought her to that pure state of being she craves: defenceless, exhausted, drunk on pleasure. But as he lifts a gentle hand to her face, obviously responding to her in the same way that I do, her expression flickers.  
  
“What is it?” I lean forward, speaking softly. “What do you need, Kathryn?”  
  
A lock of damp, sweaty hair falls over her eyes as she turns to me.  
  
“I need …” she licks dry lips. “Chakotay … I need you. Only you.”  
  
I push myself out of my chair and kneel in front of her. “You have me.”  
  
She smiles, but there’s a tremor to it and she’s starting to shiver. I take her hands.  
  
“Computer, end program and activate Chakotay beta one.”  
  
Sandrine’s disappears, and with it the holo-copies of me and everything they left behind. We’re in a chalet, kneeling on a soft, tufted rug in front of a fireplace. There’s a faded, low-slung sofa beside us, heaped with pillows. The room is small and cosy, the walls wood-panelled. This is a place of solace, not seduction.  
  
Kathryn looks down at herself, still sweaty and slick, her skin reddened where hands have clutched at it, but clean of holographic semen. She laughs a little hysterically. Then she starts to shake in earnest.  
  
It’s not the first time she’s come down like this. Sometimes, when I’ve kept her on the edge for a particularly long time, when I’ve tested her boundaries in unexpected ways and she has risen – or sunk – to every challenge I’ve set for her, in the aftermath she needs my help to pull the mantle of her composure around her again. Sometimes she trembles and clings to me as I speak to her soothingly; sometimes she weeps uncontrollably until her sobs turn into equally irrepressible laughter. Sometimes she holds herself apart from me, needing distance to relearn the outer edges of her physical being, to own herself again.  
  
As she turns her eyes toward me, it’s immediately clear that what she needs from me tonight is comfort.  
  
I snag a blanket from the couch to wrap around her then draw her into my arms, holding her close until her tremors slow. Eventually she lifts her face from where she’s pressed it against my shirt. Her eyes are calm now, her smile genuine.  
  
“Okay?” I ask, just to be sure.  
  
“Yes,” she answers. “But I meant what I said. I need you,” and she stretches up to press her lips to mine.  
  
The kiss is sweet and unhurried, her fingers twining into my hair and my hands covering her back. I’d be content to stay like this forever, just holding her, kissing her, making her mine again. But soon her fingers are drifting across my jaw, following the open collar of my shirt, opening the buttons one by one. When she struggles to work open my pants I move my hand down to help her, but she pushes it gently away.  
  
“Let me,” she murmurs, “please.”  
  
So I give her control, letting her ease me back onto the rug and remove my clothes piece by piece, greeting each newly-revealed inch of flesh with open-mouthed kisses. When I’m as naked as she is, Kathryn straddles me and sinks down onto me, leaning in to suck lightly at my neck and jaw, her nipples hard points against my chest. I spread my hands over her hips, following her easy movements as she grinds down on me, tightens around me, squeezes me until I can’t hold back any longer and let go, pulsing long and deep inside her.  
  
Afterward she stretches out along my side and rests her cheek on my chest. We lie pressed as close as we can, my fingers drifting down her back, her mouth occasionally craning to brush mine until the computer chirps a warning that we are almost out of holodeck time.  
  
We clean up and dress quickly. Kathryn makes a face as she carefully pulls on her leggings, and when I raise my eyebrows, silently asking her what’s wrong, she shrugs sheepishly.  
  
“I need a shower in the worst way.”  
  
I lean close, inhale and pretend to stagger backward holding my nose, and her smile widens as she punches me lightly on the arm.  
  
“Such a gentleman.”  
  
“Let me make up for it by escorting you home.” I bow extravagantly, take her hand and tuck it into my elbow as we move toward the exit. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”  
  
“I think I can manage that,” she smirks as we step through the holodeck doors, and her hand drops casually from my arm, her fingers catching and curling into mine.  
  
My steps lag in surprise, and it’s only when she feels the pull on her hand from the increased distance between us that our fingers disentangle.  
  
We’ve moved from our private cocoon into the public domain, and although the crew is used to seeing us together – used to our comfort with a slightly-less-than-professional distance between us, even used to my habit of hovering a protective palm over the small of her back, or hers of touching my chest or my face – she has never before let me take her hand in public.  
  
In fact, she has always been careful to limit such expressions of affection even in private, so afraid is she of slipping up and giving herself away to the wrong audience. The crew knows she’s a tactile person and writes us off as close friends – or so she convinces herself – but there are certain gestures, certain words, that would unmistakably reveal our true feelings. And that’s something she refuses to allow.   
  
It’s the one facet of our relationship on which we don’t quite see eye to eye.  
  
Kathryn’s attention is focused on the external holodeck control panel – it’s another habit of hers to make doubly certain that we’ve erased all evidence of our activities – and my gaze wanders along the corridor.  
  
Tom Paris is standing not five metres away, clearly having just exited the other holodeck. His wide eyes confirm that he hasn’t missed the unclasping of our hands.  
  
My shoulders tense and I shoot him a silent snarl of warning; I’m certain that he won’t pass up this opportunity for a wisecrack and a supercilious grin and I’m already calculating strategies for damage control, both with Paris and with Kathryn, who’s almost guaranteed to hide herself away from me the minute she realises our secret is out –  
  
But the grin never comes. Instead, Paris’ face breaks into a genuine, happy smile. He nods at me, mimes buttoning his lips, and quickly about-faces, disappearing down the corridor before Kathryn is even aware of his presence.  
  
“Okay, I think we’re good,” she announces, straightening. “Chakotay?”  
  
I make sure to tame the incredulous smile spread across my face before I turn back to her, holding out a hand to usher her along. “After you, Captain.”  
  
She flashes me a flirty smile, then schools her expression ready for any crew we might encounter. We talk of trivial things as we walk along the corridor.  
  
In the turbolift we stand side by side and my hand brushes hers, and she links our little fingers briefly before releasing me.  
  
True to my word, I escort her to her quarters, waiting until she’s punched in her entry code before I offer a goodnight and tell her I’ll see her on the bridge. But she hesitates in the open doorway, glancing quickly along the corridor.  
  
“I don’t want you to leave,” she admits, her voice hushed. “Come in for a nightcap?”  
  
Inside, she waves me to the replicator and heads directly into the sonic shower, discarding her clothes as she goes. I toss them in the refresher for her and open a bottle of wine. When she returns minutes later, barefoot and wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt, I’ve made myself at home on the couch with a padd and a glass of cabernet on the low table beside me.  
  
“Is there one of those for me?” she smiles, perching next to me.  
  
“Here.” I pour her a glass and she tucks herself into my side, feet folded beneath her.  
  
“What are you reading?”  
  
I show her the padd. “Doc’s report on his trip through the alien subspace network. Sounds like he had a blast.”   
  
Kathryn laughs, but it fades quickly into a frown.  
  
“Hey.” I take her glass and place it on the coffee table. “What’s on your mind?”  
  
“Starfleet.”  
  
“Pretty broad topic. Want to break it down for me a little?”  
  
She gives a long sigh as she settles in with her back against my chest, my arms wrapping around her waist. “I’m happy they know we’re alive, Chakotay; don’t mistake me on that. But it does makes things more complicated.”  
  
“How so?” I can’t resist letting my lips drift over her temple, and she tilts her head to let me kiss her cheekbone.  
  
“The Doctor didn’t just bring back glad tidings, Chakotay. He gave Starfleet HQ a report on the past three years – or at least the highlights – and they were … troubled, to say the least –”  
  
“Well, the Delta quadrant is no picnic,” I murmur, nuzzling into her neck. “But they did promise to find a way to bring us home.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant.” Kathryn pulls away a little, turning her head to meet my eyes. “They were concerned by some of the decisions I’ve made since we encountered the Caretaker. Breaking the Prime Directive to strand us here in the first place, our involvement with Q, and then of course, the deal with the Borg…” She bites her lip. “But the decision they found most alarming was absorbing you and the other Maquis into this crew.”  
  
That makes me frown. “How so?”  
  
“Apparently,” she glances away, “it calls my judgment into question. I believe Admiral Jellico intends to launch a full investigation into the matter and make his recommendation to Starfleet Command.”  
  
“What recommendation?”  
  
“To strip me of my command,” she says flatly.  
  
My eyebrows rise. “He’s made up his mind, then?”  
  
“So it would seem.”  
  
I can’t help snorting. “How exactly does he plan to investigate you from half a galaxy away, let alone relieve you of command?”  
  
“He’ll find a way,” she mutters. She sits up and faces me, her eyes serious. “But it does reaffirm my belief that we need to keep this – you and I – to ourselves. If Jellico ever finds out about us, he’ll drag my reputation through the mud and dispute every command call I’ve ever made. Not to mention how my questionable impartiality might affect your chances of avoiding criminal charges, if we ever get home.”  
  
“ _When_ we get home,” I correct her automatically, then, “If this is your way of telling me we need to stop seeing each other –”  
  
“Chakotay, I have no intention of giving you up,” she interrupts me firmly. “Starfleet Command has no idea how alone we are out here, or how difficult that is. No,” she cups my face in both hands, “being with you is the best decision I’ve ever made.”  
  
I can’t help the relief in my smile.  
  
“Hey,” she says, her eyes softening. “Don’t ever doubt how much I love you, okay?”  
  
“Okay.” I grin at her. She’s careful not to say the words very often – afraid of accidentally revealing too much – but that doesn’t mean she feels them any less.  
  
“Good.”  
  
She leans in and kisses me. It’s slow and light and luscious at first, as though she’s sipping at my mouth. I let her take the lead, gradually deepening the contact until her tongue tangles with mine, until she rises up on her knees so she can pull me close. Then I slip my hands onto her thighs under the short hem of her T-shirt, and she shivers and lets her head fall back, lets me kiss my way down the length of her throat, over her collarbone, until I find the hard peak of her nipple, naked beneath soft cotton.  
  
Kathryn groans and presses into my mouth and hands.  
  
I push the shirt upward on my wrists, my fingers encountering smooth, bare heat and a familiar slickness between her legs, and I can’t help grinning smugly.  
  
“Ready to go again, hmm?” I murmur, sliding two fingers into her tight, wet cunt and twisting them, curling them forward.  
  
She gasps and bucks, her voice tight as she responds, “I guess I just can’t get enough of you…”  
  
I pull my hand away and she whines in protest. “Relax,” I smirk at her, “I’m taking you to bed,” and I swing her into my arms and stride into her bedroom, laying her on her back. She watches through half-lidded eyes, hands drifting over her breasts and between her legs, while I strip off my clothes as quickly as I can, then immediately swoop down to cover her. With my knee I nudge her thighs wide apart and pin them under mine, and then I capture her wrists, raising them above her head and holding them firmly with one hand.  
  
She moans in delight at my possessiveness, just as I knew she would.  
  
With my other hand I grasp my hard and swollen cock and guide it between her legs, slicking the head over her clit, pressing tantalisingly just inside her entrance. Kathryn arches and wriggles, trying to trap me inside her, and I hold myself just out of reach, teasing her until she cries out impatiently.  
  
“Fuck me,” she pleads, struggling against my restraining hands, circling her hips, smearing my cock with her wetness, “come on, Chakotay, I need you to fuck me!”  
  
“Easy, sweetheart,” I smile down at her tenderly, and I push slowly inside her, so slowly I can feel every fluttering muscle, every internal ripple and ridge, as I enter her.  
  
Her eyes drift closed, her limbs loosen and her lips part as she concentrates on the sensation, and when I’m buried inside her to the hilt she draws a shuddering breath and looks up at me. The emotion expressed in her blue eyes is so pure, so unfeigned that my throat squeezes.  
  
“I love you,” spills out of me as I release her wrists, and instantly she brings her arms down to wrap tightly around me, rubbing her body against mine.  
  
We keep it slow, our movements small and subtle, making it last. She’s first to climax – a rippling clench and release, not the blinding intensity of her earlier orgasms but no less satisfying – and I follow soon after in a blissful wave that leaves me content and utterly relaxed.  
  
I help her strip off her T-shirt, turning her over to curl her back against my chest, enjoying the feeling of her in my arms for as long as I can. Eventually, though, I shift away and slip out of her bed.  
  
“Where are you going?” Kathryn mumbles, half-asleep already.  
  
“Back to my place.” I press a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t get up.”  
  
“Wait.” She opens her eyes and sits up, bared to the waist and so beautiful I just want to crawl back into her arms. “I don’t want you to go.”  
  
I pause in the act of fastening my pants.  
  
“Stay,” she says, holding her hand out to me. “I want to wake up with you.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
She’s never asked me to stay the night before. But she nods, smiling. “I’m sure.”  
  
I grin at her, shucking my pants again and sliding under the sheet she invitingly holds open for me. Kathryn turns over, resuming our previous position and pulling my arm around her.  
  
“What would people say?” I nuzzle the back of her neck, my hand flattening on her abdomen.  
  
“Are you telling me you can’t keep a secret?” she counters, laying her hand over mine and entwining our fingers.  
  
My penis nestles against the swell of her ass, softened and sticky but twitching as she wriggles a little.  
  
“And Admiral Jellico?”  
  
“Will never know,” she murmurs, her words tailing off into a yawn.  
  
I think about waking up with her like this for the first time, pressed up against her soft curves with my hand curled around her breast, about kissing her shoulders and the nape of her neck until she wakes smiling and turns in my arms to press her mouth to mine, about sliding into her and taking it slow and easy, making it last …  
  
Any intentions I may have had about telling her what Tom Paris knows dissipate like smoke. And as for Starfleet Command … what does it matter? They’re a lifetime away, and our life is right here, right now.  
  
Closing my eyes, I savour the feeling of Kathryn’s body curled into mine as we both drift into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you suspect I might be setting this up for another sequel, you might be right… but don’t hold your breath.


End file.
